the Dicentra Formosa
by q-uileutes
Summary: Spring, La Push, Rialto Beach. A baby cries as a dark-haired woman sits on the porch steps of her home, face turned to the horizon. Humans and wolves alike feast on the returning spring fish around a bonfire, and only three members aren't present- a woman, a baby, and a spirit warrior. Four-part fic documenting the life of Paul and Rachel after the birth of their child. Rated T.
1. i Dicentra Formosa

**a/n:** this will be a short fic documenting the chapters of Paul and Rachel's life following the birth of their daughter. there will be four parts all together! it's a bit heavy, but i promise it gets better :-)) this part is quite short, but more is coming :-))

i just wanted to explore the harder parts of marriage and parenting that not lots of writers on here write about. hopefully it's received well :-)) pls leave reviews enthusiastically! ^.^ ~~

* * *

 _i. **the Dicentra Formosa** (spring) _

It was Spring in La Push, Washington. The gloomy clouds had just began to break, giving way to patches of bright blue and letting streams of sunlight filter through its cracks. Flowers of all different kinds were beginning to bloom, opening up their petals tentatively, straining themselves thirstily in the direction of the sun.

The weather began to reflect the general spirits of the Quileute tribe. Spring was upon them- fish would be once again plentiful and feasted upon, berries popping up on the bushes in the gardens of both Emily Uley and Tiffany Call. The children could once again play outside, in the puddles, without the fear of scoldings looming over their heads.

It seemed like the entire tribe was content. For once, the entire reserve was bathed in sunlight. Wolves and humans alike enjoyed this rare sunny day on the shores of First Beach, gathered around a bonfire that cooked various promises of a feast later that night. The air smelled of liveliness and muffins.

All seemed happy, laughing under the sun.

But just twenty minutes away, on the shores of Rialto Beach, in a cabin built by the strong hands of a pack of preternatural men, was someone still stuck in what felt like the worst of weathers La Push had ever seen.

A young woman. Her long, nimble fingers were curled around a mug of hot chocolate. She sipped at the warm drink despite the sunlight that beat down on her figure that was sat on the porch steps of her cabin. Her face was stern, eyes gazing over the horizon with no tell of emotion in them. She blinked slowly, sighing sluggishly as the sounds of a crying baby rang softly in the background of her ears.

Her hair blew gently in the wind- matted, tangled, and frizzy. Just the way she often did not like it. Rachel Lahote did not let her natural hair blow in the wind like this for long, despite the protests of her nagging husband. She sighed.

 _One more thing I'll have to do_ , she thought.

She continued to sip at her hot chocolate, ignoring the man who had emerged at the edge of the forest, and the cries of the delicate baby in a crib on the second floor of her cabin, tiny olive arms reaching _desperately_ up for something to hold it.

The cries of the baby had been heard by the ears of many gifted men, who were sat on the couches and floors of Emily Uley's home. One man sighed, closing his eyes and sending his friends an apologetic look- although his mates made it clear that there was nothing for him to apologize for.

"Hey, it'll be alright." one said, clapping his large hand over the man's tattooed shoulder.

"You know Rachel," one began. "She'll snap out of this in no time."

"Just give her time, Paul." a woman's gentle voice floated over the chattering of advice that filled the living room walls. The woman smiled gently at him, eyes filled encouragement and understanding, as they always were. The woman rose up stepped over to give the man a hug. The man's figure bent over, and his arms encircled the small girl's form. It was a familiar hug- one that he had gotten used to ever since the first day he had met Kim Connweller. The girl had been one of his biggest supporters, ever since his best friend had glanced into her eyes one fateful day in their senior year of high-school.

"She'll get over this." Kim pulled away, an encouraging smile on her lips. "You both will."

And with those words, and a small container of his wife's favorite pecan banana muffins, Paul Lahote waved goodbye to his extended family, and took the trail to his home on the shores of Rialto Beach.

His wife had been where he left her that morning- sitting on the porch steps of their cabin. He had found her sitting there in the cool weather of the morning, and draped a flannel of his over her shoulders. He pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek and mumbled softly in her ear.

" _I'm going over to Emily's, mmkay Rach? I won't be there for too long. Call me if you need anything." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and lulling. He was usually a man of gruff words, but ever since his wife had been acting out of character lately, he couldn't help but step in and be extra careful around her._

" _She starts waking up around noon, but I should be back before then." Paul said quietly, dark eyes searching for any sign of the woman he had married in the weary face he was kissing. He sighed, as the only response he was given was a small nod and short hum of acknowledgment._

" _I love you." He had pressed one last loving kiss to her hair, and he was off._

"Hey, Rach." Paul smiled softly, settling down next to his wife momentarily. "Em made your favorite- banana pecan muffins." Rachel's dark brown eyes broke away from beach's horizon for a moment, to scan the container of muffins that Emily Uley had baked for her. She made a small hum of acknowledgement and returned her gaze to the beach, taking another sip of her drink.

Paul's eyes dropped in disappointment. He had hoped that Emily's gesture would elicit some sort of response from her, but it had failed. He was happy though, to see that she had made herself hot chocolate.

This, at least, was _some_ sort of progress.

Just last week, Paul had to serve her breakfast in bed, just so that she would remember to eat something before he left for work.

"I'm leaving the muffins on the counter." He sighed, pushing himself up so that he could collect the baby that was now screaming desperately for attention.

The desperation in the child's shrill cry was so apparent, but Rachel still couldn't bring herself to walk up those stairs and hold the baby.

* * *

Billy sighed as the phone line went dead. It had been a solemn update from Paul about his eldest daughter.

Paul was quite thorough, much to Billy's surprise. Paul was never one to describe every detail he could see in the most descriptive of languages, however, Billy knowing fully from experience, it was easy to take notice of things that a wife always did when she suddenly wasn't present to do them.

Apparently, Rachel had stopped watering the herb garden that she had been gifted from Emily. She used to meticulously obsess over keeping the herbs alive, determined to use them in a dish for a family dinner one day. Paul had taken over the responsibility of tending to her garden. He had said that if she would ever return to her interest in the garden, that he wanted it still to be in good shape so that she would not have to work so hard to sprout the herbs all over again. He had also mentioned that Rachel had stopped doing laundry all together. Paul also took over this task.

All of a sudden, there were chores that were being placed on Paul's shoulders, on top of taking care of a newborn baby. He was overwhelmed, to say the least, but refused to ask Rachel for help. He was surprisingly patient with her, Billy mused.

Even he would be a little short with his eldest daughter, if all of a sudden she had dropped everything and left him to take over the tasks she had responsibility over.

It was three months now. Billy had read up on this. Usually, cases like Rachel only last three to four weeks. It was spring now, the baby being born in late fall. This was becoming a growing concern to both Billy, Jacob, and the rest of the pack. It was painful, and a little unnerving to see Rachel Lahote so sluggish.

So, with newfound confidence and hope to bring his daughter back to who she once was, Billy climbed into the passenger seat of his son's truck as it pulled away, veering into the trail to Rialto Beach.

* * *

Rachel's motions were almost robotic as she shuffled about her old room, Billy, Jacob, and Paul all peering in through the crack of the door. She showed no apparent sign of emotion- just neutrality.

Jacob shook his head when she even threw her deer plushie in the box labelled _Donate_ , stepping away from the door and muttering.

"She's lost." he said, eyes downcast in sadness. "She didn't even give _Doeye_ a second glance."

Jacob stepped away from the door and jogged to the back door of the house, flinging it open and slamming it shut as he left in the direction of the forest.

Paul faintly heard him call the number of his own wife, complaints and concerns of his older sister the topic of the phone call.

"Let's leave her." Billy suggested with a sigh, wrinkled hands running themselves over his aging face. Before rolling away into the living room, he patted Paul on the shoulder.

"Hopefully _something_ in there makes some progress with her."

Paul nodded, sending one last, sad glance to the love of his life shuffling about her childhood room and stepping away from the door to join Billy in the living room. The laughter of a child and an old man was heard by Paul, which brought a tired smile to his face. At the very least, he thought, at least one of his girls was happy.

Just down the hallway, Rachel was just about done with clearing out her old closet when a small, glass bottle fell to the carpeted floor. She picked it up with a heavy sigh, as if the action of bending down and picking up the small object took all of her strength.

She had almost tossed the unassuming item into the Trash box when her fingers ran over the patterns of the glass. _So familiar_ , she thought.

Looking down, Rachel's eyes widened in recognition. She knew what this was.

When she had first found it, just four years after the accident, it had still smelled faintly of the perfume that it held. She knew the smell perfectly- it was demure- a grown-up, floral scent that clung to the golden skin of Sarah Black.

When she had found it, she kept it perched on her windowsill. Every morning, when the sun peeked its head over the horizon of the Pacific ocean, its golden rays would stream through the cracks of Rachel's blinds and hit the dainty crystal bottle. She would wake one morning, once a year, to see that Spring had arrived- brilliant colors would streak her ceiling and golden sunlight bathed her room.

Rachel was silent. Blinking once, her fingers dropped the bottle into the _Keep_ box, turning away when it hit the box with a dull thud.


	2. ii Lupinus Latifolius

**a/n:** hola again! it me back w another lit update (jk not lit bc this is a heavier fic so oops) but ya boi, here i am

updates will be every other day until all four parts are up! this one is way short, but the next part will be the bulk of the story. i apologize if the story is slow (esp n this part lol) but i'm just really trying to convey the mood of the story and set everything up. i want this fic to feel like a longer one based on the pacing and tone of it, and i also want it to reflect on the way things/people change. it's not always a quick release of emotions and then someone is back to their normal self- in fact, it's usually quite the opposite. i want it to be clear that the characters are progressing SLOWLY, that change and progress often go unseen until you look back on how someone was just months before. i want ppl to see that its the little moments of change that contribute to a person's development. anyways enuff w the heavy stuh

enjoyy~~

* * *

 _ **ii. Lupinus Latifolius (late spring)**_

Paul Lahote wakes up, stretching his limbs groggily, and noticing that once again, his wife's side of the bed is cold. He pulls open the curtains and looks out the window, down to the porch steps, where Rachel Lahote is sitting, again.  
This time, she's sitting on the chair he had left out for her, her large mug filled to the brim with hot chocolate, and a banana pecan muffin sitting on a plate on the table that matched the chair. An old sweater of his was pulled over her frail looking body, his last name printed in cracking, block letters, stretched across the back of the sweater.

 _Progress,_ he thinks. It's a miniscule progression, but he's happy to see _something_. Perhaps the day spent at Billy's, clearing out her childhood things to make way for Jacob's baby, contributed something to help his wife progress.

Paul had taken to reminding himself of where Rachel was just a month ago- bedridden, mute, unresponsive.

He had cried, shouted, cooed. He had tried to tempt Rachel out of bed with her favorite things- the smell of bacon and muffins in the mornings, the television playing her favorite silly reality show, the sounds of her family laughing and bonding together. After two months, he was at his wit's end.  
Nothing had worked, so Paul had given up all methods but one: patience.

Every voice he had in his head screamed at him to just do something, his muscles twitching and aching to explode with action- waiting was not something he was used to.

 _Little steps,_ he told himself. His mind was obsessive over the two simple words. _Little steps._

Paul grunted as he swung the door open to the pale blue nursery. He peered into the little white crib, smiling softly as his eyes saw the tiny chest rise and fall surely.

It was already so excitingly clear to Paul that the little girl took after his wife. Already, at three months, Paul could see the similarities. They shared the same nose, the same lips, the same beautifully gentle eyes. Their hairline was the same, and so was their smile, and Paul could not have been any happier to see her slowly growing to look more and more like his wife- even if she was only three months old. Paul reached down into the crib, cradling the tiny infant so carefully in his large arms, smiling softly in affection when the baby yawned and dug its face closer to his chest.

" _Hach-chi'i!"_ Paul whispered with a smile, pressing his nose to the child's smooth, dark skin.

Paul held his daughter close to him and sighed, looking around the room he and Rachel had built so excitedly just last year. The pair were eager to furnish the room they had reserved for their child, Rachel running in giddily at every baby store they visited in Seattle. A senseless noise from the baby fetched Paul from his thoughts. He shifted the child from one shoulder to the other, running his fingers over her smooth, tiny head that was covered in a fine layer of soft, black baby hair. All of a sudden, Paul was thanking the Spirits for blessing him with a life that he never thought he would have the pleasure of knowing.

He had spoken once with Jared and Sam, just a week after the first transformation, about how different their lives would be now that they weren't "normal" anymore. They had spoken about love, and life, and the tribe, and how they wondered if this was their life now- if their lives would be whittled down to being just the wolf, just the protector, with no other purpose but to live forever and patrol the borders of their quaint little reservation until the end of time, or until some vampire killed them. Paul never thought his life would turn out this way: his own house that he and his brothers built from the ground up, overlooking his favorite beach on the reservation, sharing a bed with the woman of his dreams, and waking up to hold his daughter every morning. He didn't predict his current circumstances with his depressed wife, but he still was thankful she was here with him, even if she wasn't all there at the moment. She was still with him, still loved him, still chose to marry him. _This is just a season_ , he reminded himself.

Paul gently stroked the tiny infant's beautifully dark, smooth skin with his thumb as he slowly made his way down the stairs. Padding over to the crib he had set up in the living room, he gently laid the infant down in her bed, chuckling softly when the baby wrinkled her nose at the sudden lack of warmth.

After ensuring that the baby was safe, Paul heated up some pasta from their dinner last night and joined his wife on the porch table.

"Hey Rach." he pressed a sweet kiss to Rachel's cheek and grunted as he sat himself in the chair beside her. Rachel gave him a quick glance and upturned her lips in what looked like a grimace.

"Did you end up donating all your old stuff from your dad's house?" Paul asked quietly, shovelling pasta into his mouth. He was sure to keep up normal conversation with his wife, steering away from topics such as the baby when he could help it. He didn't want her to feel like a child when he spoke to her- he was scared that constant worrying and sympathy would end up making things worse.  
" _No."_ She replied quietly. Paul nodded. "Kept some stuff."

Paul raised his head from being hunched over his bowl.

"Like what?" he asked, hoping that Rachel would continue the conversation. Much to his surprise and delight, she continued to reply.

"Random things." she fiddled with her fingers, picking away at the cuticles and bending her nails that had become brittle over the last three months. "Old artwork. Scrapbooks. Photo albums."

Paul nodded eagerly, a smile on his face, finally happy to hear more of his wife's voice.

"Are you going to put them away in the attic? Or keep them around the house?" he asked, his pasta forgotten.

Rachel shrugged, biting her lip.

"Iunno yet."

"That's okay." Paul replied quickly. "It's not that big of a deal. Just do whatever you feel like doing, Rach." Paul smiled, an encouraging lilt to his voice. His large hand came to her back, rubbing up and down soothingly. Paul frowned at how she hunched, her body feeling so frail to him.

" _Yap_ _ó_ _talli._ " Rachel suddenly said, standing up from her seat on the porch and padding quietly back into the house.

Paul watched her leave the porch, eyes following her as she walked straight past the crib to settle on the couch and switch the TV on, shrugging on the blanket and eyes closing.

Paul closed his eyes and sighed.

 _Little steps,_ he reminded himself. The quick conversation made him ache for the relationship they had before- happy, snarky, natural. He sighed, pushing away his bowl of food and ran his fingers across his tired face.

 _Little steps. This is only a season._

* * *

notes: the following two words are translated from a Quileute-language phrase book, and are not spelled accurately. to be spelled in it's true appearance would mean the use of accents and letters unable to be accessed by regular type-faces, and unable to be depicted by the site. this is the anglicization/"english font" version of the Quileute words. i apologize that i was unable to spell them properly! :(

\- " _Yap_ _ó_ _talli": "I'm tired."_

\- " _Hach'i": "Good morning."_


	3. iii Lewisia Tweedyi

**a/n:** I'M BACK A DAY EARLY bc i won't have wifi tomorrow :-))

\- I got a PM last night asking about the chapter names with the seasons, and what they meant. Hopefully this chapter will prompt some sort of answer! I was actually surprised people even wondered about them LOL.

**since it was requested that I include an explanation to recurring themes and motifs, I'll be writing a lengthy authors note at the top of the final chapter, explaining how certain events lead to certain character's actions, motifs, themes, little side-bits and headcanons I had whilst writing the story, how I came up with the concept, etc etc. I'll also be revealing what exactly Rachel is experiencing during the story and what contributed to it, if it isn't already obvious to you. If you are the type of reader who likes figuring things out for themself and leaving mystery to do its thing, don't read my author's note for the final part! I'll include a warning before the note.

I hope you enjoy this part! happy reading~~

* * *

 _ **iii. Lewisia Tweedyi (summer)**_

Paul Lahote wakes up with another grunt, his wife's side of the bed cold once again. With bleary eyes, he pulls open the curtains and looks down at the porch through the window. His eyebrows furrow.

Something is wrong.

Paul quickly pounds his way down the stairs, only to be stopped short by the sight of his wife padding about the house with a calm expression on her face. Her arms were carrying the cardboard box that had been sitting by the fireplace collecting dust for several days. A quick glance around showed signs of change in his home.

A few more photo albums were squeezed into the wooden bookcase he had made for the cabin when they first moved in. A 'La Push Tribal High-School' yearbook was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. A picture of Rebecca Finau and her husband and daughter sat on the fireplace mantle. A small perfume bottle was perched on the kitchen windowsill just beside the herb garden Paul watered every so often.

"Good morning, Rach." Paul smiled carefully, pressing a kiss to Rachel's dark hair. Rachel hummed in response.

"You putting your things away now?" he asked. Rachel nodded.

"Mhm." she hummed. "Not all of it." she continued.

Paul watched as she set down the box where it sat for five days after it came into the house and nodded.

"Ok." he said simply, sending her a soft smile. "Take your time."

* * *

Rachel did take her time. Every other morning, Paul noticed one more thing in his home that had not been there before. With every new object, Paul's hopes grew.

The box was slowly being emptied, day by day. Every morning, he would find Rachel still sitting on the porch steps, either a blanket or sweater keeping her frail body warm. He would press a kiss to her hair and sit with her there until he had to leave to pick up paperwork from the garage he worked at. His boss had sent him on a somewhat paternity leave, when he had learned that Paul's wife was so unlike herself. Paul was still required to work, but his work was all done at home these days. Paperwork and phone calls at the dinner table rather than grease and woodwork in the garage. Over the three months that he worked from home, he was given small projects clients asked for. Figurines, carvings, stools. Anything small enough for him to handle at home in his backyard with his own carving tools. It was something his boss had given him to keep him sane. Paul was a man who enjoyed working with his hands, and he couldn't wait until the day he could go back to working in the garage regularly again, but of course, his family would always be his very first priority.

After picking up his paperwork and projects for the day, he would come home to Rachel sitting at the dinner table staring out the kitchen window. It took him a week to realize that she wasn't just staring out the window- rather at the perfume bottle that sat beside her herb garden that he caught Rachel watering once.

In the mornings, when the sun's rays sent golden light through the window, the bottle would send brilliant streaks of color across the ceiling. He had never seen the bottle before it appeared in their home, but figured it meant _something_ to his wife.

One morning, Rachel awoke before the sun as always to heat up her breakfast and make her hot chocolate before stopping in her tracks at the kitchen.

A single stem of pretty, drooping purple flowers sat inside the bottle. She recognized the flowers- they bloomed everywhere on her hiking trail through the Olympic forest.

She padded quietly over to the kitchen windowsill just as the sun peeked her head over the horizon of Rialto Beach. Her fingers stroked the delicate petals softly.

Paul came home that day to see Rachel watering her herb garden and quietly humming.

* * *

The flowers changed two weeks later. After the droopy purple flowers had started to wilt, they were replaced by a plant that looked like lavender. The stem stood straight, pale indigo flowers branching upwards from the green stem. A few weeks after that, before the lavender-like flowers wilted, three yellow flowers with pointed petals were placed delicately in the little bottle. They were always replaced before the flowers would ever wilt. Rachel smiled a little before fetching herself a mug for her daily morning hot chocolate.

Heavy footsteps sounded their owner's arrival down the stairs, and Paul joined Rachel in the kitchen, just as she began to open her box of items she had collected from her old room.

"Is that the last thing in the box?" Paul asked curiously. Rachel nodded in response, pulling out an old quilt. It was clearly handmade, a beige quilt with a repeating pattern of tree and animal motifs.

"Momma made it for Rebecca and I before we were born." she explained quietly, folding the quilt quickly with a soft expression. Paul hummed in acknowledgement, watching her pad away to the large wardrobe by their front door which held winter coats, rain boots, and extra blankets.

"I saved it for when she moves to a bigger bed."

There was a pause in the air, then Paul spoke.

"When she moves to a bigger bed?" he asked dumbly.

"Mhm. She'll outgrow her blankets, too."

Rachel hummed quietly as she padded to the kitchen, away from Paul's dumbfounded expression.

* * *

The next day, Paul came home from picking up his daily paperwork to see Kim and Emily sitting at his dinner table. Rachel wasn't exactly smiling, but her eyes seemed significantly brighter than usual, and her posture was straighter. As the door shut, Rachel stood from the table and greeted Paul as he shucked his shoes off his feet. She pushed herself onto her tiptoes and pressed a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek and mumbled a small " _welcome home"_ , before joining Kim and Emily at the dinner table again. The two women smiled warmly at Paul as he pulled each of them into a quick hug.

Emily immediately sparked the conversation, their topic of choice being Kim's swollen belly, Rachel quietly chiming in every so often about her own pregnancy quirks. The baby was asleep upstairs in the nursery, and Paul on the back porch carving away at a new project his boss had given him. The large sliding doors were open to the back porch, letting in the fresh forest air, the sheer curtains billowing softly as the breeze caressed the fabric. The conversation at the dinner table was easily overheard by Paul who was carving nearby. At Rachel's every mention of her pregnancy, Emily and Kim sent careful glances over to Paul who would pause in his carving whenever Rachel spoke.

After finishing their pastries brought over by Emily, they moved to the living room couches, and pulled out various yearbooks all three women had brought. They had each flipped through the books they brought, pointing out certain pictures and telling stories of their childhood. Emily brought her own yearbook and spoke of her life on the Makah reservation, and Kim brought hers to tell stories of growing up with Jared and Paul as classmates.

It was Rachel's turn now, and she quietly flipped through the pages of her yearbooks, letting Kim and Emily lead the comments until she had brought out her old baby book. The first page was a portrait of Rachel at just three months old. Both Emily and Kim awwed and cooed, while Rachel stared.

"She looks like me." she said.

Emily and Kim went silent, and the quiet noises of Paul's carving paused.

"She does, doesn't she?" Emily quietly remarked.

The house was silent for a moment, the only sounds to be heard was the wind billowing the curtains, and the rustling of leaves and bushes from the forest that bordered the cabin. Then, Rachel flipped to the next page, slightly more cautious comments coming from both of her friends, and Paul resumed his carving.

* * *

By the time the sun began to set, Emily and Kim have long returned to their own homes- back to their excited children or welcoming wolves.

The last sliver of the sun bid La Push a temporary farewell, with a slow kiss to the ocean as it sank into its cold waters. Paul quickly pulled a pair of respectable toucan boxers onto his hips after finishing up in the shower, and rubbed a towel over his wet hair, blindly making his way down the hallway to the nursery. His hand grasps the doorknob and swings it open, pulling the towel away from his eyes so that he can fix his daughter for bed, before he was quickly stopped.

Rachel had beat him to it.

The baby was already in her purple pajamas, a gift from Embry Call, and her matching little purple pompom hat, a gift from Quil Ateara, and in her crib making mindless baby noises as Rachel sat on the floor in front of her. The baby's gaze was wide and wondrous, staring at Rachel with a melting smile, innocent giggles escaping her tiny body. Rachel stared back, their faces blocked by the crib's white rails. Paul stiffened, not wanting his presence to possibly ruin what was Rachel's first real moment with her daughter. After the violent and panicked birth of the baby, Rachel had passed out, Paul being quickly handed the still bloody child as doctors rushed to save his wife's life. She had missed that first moment with their baby, and it was Paul's face that their daughter first saw of the world.

Rachel reached through the cracks in the crib and ran her nimble fingers across the tiny, plump cheeks that smiled underneath her touch. She hummed, and whispered a quiet " _hach'awi"_ and touched her fingers to her lips, and then to the infant's forehead. She giggled in response and her little arm reached out for her Mother's. Rachel tentatively poked her pinky finger out and squeaked as a tiny little fist grabbed hold of it and grasped it tightly.

It was a moment later that Rachel drew away, her forehead softly thudding against the crib. The baby yawned, and closed her eyes, quickly falling asleep.

Paul stepped fully inside the nursery and crouched himself down next to Rachel. His hand reached for her shoulders and he pulled her into his arms, Rachel falling surely into his strong, sure grasp. Her arms wrapped around his torso and squeezed tightly, burying her face into his neck and trying to hold back her tears.

Rachel's voice was ashamed, quiet, and muffled as she spoke a single word into Paul's skin.

"It's okay. I love you."

And with those words, Paul pulled his wife up with a strong hold, and still entwined together, they left the nursery, and walked down the hallway into their own bedroom. They fell asleep, limbs entangled with one another, breathing into each other's skin. Rachel relaxed, her body held tightly and surely in her husband's arms, the smell of trees and flowers gently drifting into their bedroom as the curtains waved good-night to the beach below.

* * *

\- " _Hach'awi": "Good night."_


	4. iv Columbiana Lewisia

**a/n:** _THE FINAL INSTALLMENT IS HERE! i just wanted to thank HalcyonSeasons for leaving me beautiful reviews on this story :-)) ((and Abigail_ _as well- y'all were like the only reviewers so thank you :-)) I knew that this story wouldn't be well-received, or would get the response/reviews I wanted- this story isn't really the norm of wolf-pack fics. It's more heavy and slow-paced and really dependant on character-building more than plot really._

 **Anyways, here's the explanation of the story! PLS DON'T READ IF U DON'T WANNA READ!** **This is lengthy as hell and a lot of the stuff in this can be considered uneccessary so** LOL. Alright, so, Rachel is suffering from quite a bad case of postpartum depression. According to the extensive research I've done from the interwebs, most cases of postpartum depression only last three to four weeks- for Rachel, it lasts around 4 months. She abandons all the home tasks she originally took responsibility of, she spends her days being very sluggish and burnt out. The main reason (?) for her depression is that she's reminded of her own Mother who passed away in a car accident (which is also why Billy is in a wheelchair now), and her violent birth also probably contributed to it as well. Rachel wasn't prepared for the birth of her daughter in the sense that it happened a week before her due date and she had to be rushed to the hospital by Embry and Quil who were hanging around Billy/Jake's house when her water broke suddenly. Paul and Jake were away at work when it happened but were both obviously called by Billy about what had happened. The whole birth was very violent and Rachel lost a lot of blood in the process (as described in part iii.), and passed out right after the baby was delivered. The baby was handed right to Paul, and the doctors got to work on saving Rachel, who was just about ready to die from all the blood loss. After the whole birth and Rachel awoke, she felt disconnected from her baby, what with the awry delivery and her missing the moment of holding her child right after giving birth to her (a moment she was so excited for), and the thoughts of her Mom. The baby was born in late Winter (EVEN THO MY SORRY ASS PUT "FALL" INSTEAD OF WINTER IN LIKE THE FIRST PART I HATE MYSELF), and it takes Rachel until the late Summer to truly bond with her daughter. And yes, the daughter isn't named in this story- I don't like naming the pack's kids for some reason LOL it's too weird to me.

 _Doeye,_ a deer plushie mentioned in part i is a stuffed animal that Rachel grew up with. And in this story, I didn't intend Renesmee to exist/be imprinted upon by Jake. His wife is a human (probably that girl he met at the park in BD i think).

The chapters are all the scientific names of the flowers that Paul puts in the perfume bottle. The seasons are when each flower blooms, and the flower names/chapters are organized in order of when they bloom. Below are the english names of each flower and what I was going for with each one. The blooming season of each flower is meant to signify what season the story is set in, so the story spans pretty much the whole warm season.  
\- _Dicentra Formosa:_ Pacific Bleeding Heart- represents Rachel in the sense that they're in the Pacific Northwest, and she has a "bleeding heart".  
\- _Lupinus Latifolius:_ Broadleaf Lupine- represents Paul in the sense that the word "lupine" means "of, or pertaining to the wolf, savage, predatory, ravenous". the scientific name of the wolf is actually "Canis Lupis".  
\- _Tweedyi/Columbiana Lewisia:_ Tweedy's/Columbia's Lewisia- just flowers that bloom in the Olympic forest/Washington coast that I thought were pretty LOL.

The addition of actual Quileute words is something I try and do in every story I write for the pack. I know that keeping a dying language alive is hard and it's something that I'm sorta affected by, so I just wanted to show that Rach and Paul are both sorta doing their part to keep the language alive. Rachel is more fluent bc her Mom could speak it fluently like it was her mother-tongue. Paul only knows expressions and certain words, but picks up more from Rachel.

It's Paul's gesture of putting flowers in the perfume bottle that helps Rachel out of her depression. It's a small gesture, but Rachel knows that Paul's outward gestures of love are few and far between (just bc that's the kind of guy he is) and thus far more sincere and thought out.

Paul isn't essentially mad at Rachel- he understands that she's just going through a season of sadness in her life, and that she'll eventually get over it. He's frustrated that he feels helpless and can't really make her get over her depression. He's essentially just given up trying to make her happy again and just stands by her in support, recognizing this is ultimately her own fight that only she can really get herself out of. He's in the process of beginning to stop transforming- he still occassionally does and everyone in the pack has agreed to only phase in emergencies, but that if they need to then they will with no hesitation. The imprints are fully supportive of this.

ANYWAYS enjoy the last (tiny) part of "the Dicentra Formosa" :-)) it's a story I'm very proud of writing, and I plan on writing more short installments about the rest of the pack that finally dramaticize my many headcanons.

* * *

 _iv. Columbiana Lewisia (late summer)_

When Rachel awoke, streams of color lit up her kitchen ceiling like a city light show, four tiny white flowers resting happily with their pink striped petals in the old perfume bottle she had placed on the windowsill two months ago.

She had already finished her breakfast an hour ago- a pancake drowned in butter and a mug of hot chocolate. Rachel had left a small plate sat on the kitchen counter, a strawberry muffin topped with plain yogurt perched on its top, waiting eagerly to be eaten by her husband, whose favorite baked goods were Emily Uley's strawberry muffins topped with plain yogurt.

She hummed quietly, rocking the baby in her arms softly, nimble fingers brushing away the edge of the quilt that she was swaddled in away from the tiny infant's face. The soft Quillayute lullaby floated in the air around them. She's sitting on the porch steps again, a sweater of her husband's shucked onto her figure. Rachel smiles as the baby wrinkles her nose in protest to the cold, and she presses a kiss to her beautiful golden skin.

Her husband watches just a floor above her, through the window of their bedroom, looking at his wife sitting on their porch steps.

" _Kwop kilawtley."_ she whispers to the baby, pressing another kiss to her irresistibly smooth skin.

Rachel feels a heavy, familiar arm fall across her shoulders and feels a hot kiss press into her hair. She can feel the smile on her husband's face through his kiss. She continues to hum quietly as they sit there, all three of them, together, on the porch steps, watching the waves crash onto the shoreline of Rialto Beach, and the smell of flowers floating in the crisp morning air.

* * *

\- "Kwop kilawtley": "I love you." YES IT MEANS I LOVE YOU, NOT "STAY WITH ME FOREVER" LIKE EVERYONE THINKS. Kwop kilawtley and que quowle are essentially the same meaning, just different spelling variations. Here's an excerpt of a blog post that explains a little bit of the Quileute language, and how the writer deciphered what Jake said to Bella:

 _"So what did he say to Bella? Well, here are two hints, see if you can figure it out: 1) Quileute, like most Native American languages, has longer words than English, not shorter. 4-5 Quileute syllables are not going to translate into a long English sentence. 2) Quileute is an endangered language. Younger people are working to learn and revitalize their native language, but the fluent speakers of Quileute are all elders. Since the Quileute teenagers at the premiere recognized and reacted to what he said, it's either something you might hear your grandparents say or something you might learn in class. And that's not likely to be "Stay with me forever" or "Team Jacob all the way." Yep, it's "I love you." It's kw'opḳalawó∙li, also spelled a variety of other ways (kwopkalawo'li, kw'opkalawoli, k'upkalawli, kwop kilawtley, que quowle, etc.) The different spellings are due to the fact that Quileute isn't traditionally a written language, not due to any ambiguity in meaning. kw'opa is the Quileute root for "love," -kalaw is an object suffix meaning "you," and -li is a subject suffix meaning "I.""_


End file.
